


00Stark

by hannahrhen



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Couch Frottage, Flirting, FrostIron - Freeform, Humor, Infidelity, Jealousy, LoQi, Loki Does What He Wants, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, OOStark, Q Abuse, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 20:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So, let me understand this," Bond observed. "Your lover is a near-immortal, mentally-unhinged <em>space</em>-man, and … it seemed like a good idea to flirt with … anyone else? On the <em>planet</em>?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	00Stark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SeekingIdlewild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeekingIdlewild/gifts).



> Based on a hand-flutteringly, squeeing [Tumblr thread](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com/post/44095191108/hannahrhen-seekingidlewild-hannahrhen) ...

**⊕ Bond ⊕**

The particular quality of Q’s smirk was enough to raise hairs on the back of Bond’s neck. Once, not long before, that look would have made his palm itch with the desire to smack it off the young man’s face. He would never have given in to the impulse, of course, but the imagining of it would have brought a tiny, mirrored smile to his own lips.

Now, of course, he knew how to wipe that irritating expression off in other ways, how to reduce Q to uncharacteristic shivers and pleading, long legs and arms opening to Bond, pulling him in—but, in headquarters at least, it was still necessary to make it through this tedious protocol _gauntlet_.

Barely resisting the urge to bark, “What?,” he pocketed the new pistol, the ammunition Q seemed to promise would destroy the target with a thought—but no exploding pen this time.

Hm.

“One last item, 007,” Q concluded, and here it was, the source of Q’s self-satisfaction. He described a new kind of armor—something slim, lightweight, almost sentient in its adaptability. Something that Bond, however, would need to acquire himself. From—

“An American,” Q offers with a tease. “And, unfortunately, one who refuses to work with anyone he deems ‘a middle-man.’” Ah. Hence the humor in Q’s eyes. “You need to go it alone, Bond—and, luckily for you, that’s how you prefer to work, is it not.”

The _cheek_. If only it weren’t so appealing. Sighing silently, Bond took the dossier that Q pushed across the desk. As if a report were needed for Tony Stark, one of the States’ self-named “superheroes.” Bond allowed Q a single look, took in the younger man’s resilient satisfaction.

Then, finally giving in, Bond closed the distance, slid a hand around his nape, into that dark, curled hair … and pulled back, hard, exposing Q’s pale neck to the punishment of a single bite, absorbing the surprised grunt with pleasure. It was a deserved goodbye before Bond left to prepare for his new assignment.

Sometimes he needed to handle this situation—even if they _were_ at headquarters.

Two days later, early afternoon, Bond found himself in Stark’s own workshop in the fabled Avengers Tower.

He’d assessed the security, the routes for escape, the other, scant-but-overpowered residents of the Tower. The situation was secure, for now—so he turned up the heat on Stark, who responded … beautifully.

It was unclear as yet if Stark had any conflicts with Bond's particular type of attention. He’d heard one borderline affectionate call between the man and his company’s CEO—his former “assistant,” they'd called her, and it’s possible Bond raised a minute eyebrow at that term back in the day. There had also been rumors of various pair-ups among the Tower’s residents, most notably Romanov and Barton, who were on record as lovers during at least two prior long-term assignments, their status now unknown.

Stark was definitely considering _someone,_ even as he dealt with Bond, occasionally shifting and trying very hard not to look as if he were scanning the room at least once each quarter-hour. Bond wondered why he didn’t use his AI to do the surveillance, if Stark were so concerned about being discovered in a compromised position. As for potential cuckolds, Bond’s money was on Doctor Banner, who had, at least on camera, a significant personal chemistry with the man, and who certainly could give Stark something to worry about, if he became _unhappy_ with the situation.

Bond had dealt with jealous lovers before, and he wondered at his own prowess in dealing with an enormous, irradiated beast, but Stark’s dark eyes, his wit, his reputation for unabashed bedroom athletics … Bond couldn’t say he wasn’t intrigued.

He waited until Stark’s latest—curious—scan of the workshop concluded. Whatever he’d been looking for, he hadn’t found it. Bond leaned in. “Q indicated you wouldn’t donate these pieces to our cause unless I attended myself,” Bond offered, resting a hip against Stark’s worktable, close enough to the other man to feel his body’s heat. “However, I see no reason for my personal attention … yet.”

**⊕ Stark ⊕**

The room still clear, Tony Stark turned his million-dollar smile on the agent as he snapped through the armor plans. Yeah, this slick fucker was pretty much everything he’d been told, Tony thought. Hot, smart, and … yep, totally slutty. Tony’s favorite. “I don’t just give armor away to anyone—her majesty’s secret service aside. I needed to check you out myself.” He put just enough lechery into his tone to get his point across.

“And?” Bond wondered, warmth in that cool voice. “Am I what you expected?”

Tony pulled back from the plans he was sorting through—he’d plugged in the impressively precise measurements Q’d supplied, and now it was just up to JARVIS to make the adjustments. This would be no Iron Man suit—just a layer of responsive metal that already was a thousand times better than what Bond would get otherwise, Q or no. 

Tony looked Bond over. “I think you know the answer to that.” His tone was light and, okay, impressed, and he gave brief thanks to the fact that Loki was giving them some space. The god’s possessiveness made for some incredible nights—and mornings, and tea-times—but Tony’s flirting-with-a-near-stranger muscle was starting to atrophy.

And, goddammit, Tony liked flirting. He missed the buzz. No, he wasn’t going to give in to anything—okay, maybe some kissing would be nice, a quick little grope … But he wasn’t a total dumbass. He had a good thing going. And his good thing, surprisingly, was giving him a little room to play.

Bond raised an eyebrow and smiled in answer. He slid a little closer, offered, “Meanwhile, you’re somewhat different than what I expected, Mr. Stark … “

Tony nearly giggled with giddiness. Yeah, he just missed _this._

And then, JARVIS, cockblocker extraordinaire: “Sir … I’ve been made aware that Loki has been seen this afternoon in MI6 headquarters. In London,” he added, not helpfully. “He appeared briefly in the quartermaster’s office and then disappeared some moments later.” A pause, again totally unhelpful, goddammit, JARVIS. “Taking the quartermaster with him.”

Ah, shit.

And with that, Tony saw what a very few could claim to have witnessed—a look of genuine surprise on 007’s face. “Loki,” was all the man said.

Tony’s face pinched. “Yeah, uh … “ Tony half-shrugged, started to back away toward the collection of suits. “I may have fucked up. Your Q—are you—?” He made a universal hand gesture.

Bond only gave a sour look as reply. “And you. And the … the God of Mischief.”

They kept the chatter practical until they were in the air, Bond fitted with a comm device to allow them to talk as they flew over the Atlantic.

“So, let me understand this,” Bond finally observed, and Tony girded himself. “Your lover is a near-immortal, objectively mentally-unhinged *space*-man, and … it seemed like a good idea to flirt with … anyone else?" He took a breath. "On the _planet_?”

“Just … shut up,” Tony muttered, cringing. He was feeling more stupid by the minute and didn't need the help.

“No, really,” Bond continued, “and I appreciate the irony of this observation, more than you can know, but I believe you have a death wish, Mr. Stark.”

Meanwhile, across the pond …

**⊕ Loki ⊕**

The boy had been easier to press into the sofa than Loki had predicted. A little mental nudge, a little psychic convincing that _this is what you crave,_ and the lean, pretty thing—so much taller and finer-boned than Tony—had folded into the cushions.

He—and Loki couldn’t bear to actually call him Q, not after extracting the boy’s so-secreted name from his mind—was still resisting, a token protest. Fingers digging into Loki’s chest, pushing him away, just a little. But Loki knew how to wield his so-called silver tongue, and the words were doing their little tricks …

“Right now your lover no doubt has mine pinned beneath him, with no idea that I’m doing the exact same to you,” he whispered as the boy’s nails scraped at the flesh of his breast through a thin layer of cloth. He really was quite lovely, with the dark curls, the huge eyes, the evening’s beard growth adding sensual texture to his jaw. He made beautiful little sounds as Loki rubbed against him like a cat, heavy with pleasure.

Loki was enjoying this diversion enough to mute the deep offense he'd felt when he saw that blond idiot breathe down Tony's neck--when he'd seen Tony _respond_ , moments after meeting the other. The flush at the touch of their hands, the distance the idiot didn't leave as he followed Tony to the workshop ... It had been easy enough to pluck this boy's identity out of the man's head, to find his location--to exact his own fitting revenge, both on Bond and Loki's own wayward lover. 

And the revenge was fine indeed. He preferred the fight Tony Stark gave, the fire, but the lean hips and legs as long as his own were a pleasant change. “How energetically does yours fuck?” Loki continued sweetly. “One can only imagine what he makes of you, you slight thing. Such a brute he is—I can tell. He reminds me of someone I once knew …” He pressed another kiss to the almost-parting lips. “I can only imagine how he puts you underneath him, opens you, swallows your words, the sounds you make as he takes you, the words you spill that are so humiliating after, hmm? What do you call him in those dark moments, young one?“ He exhaled onto the pinkening skin. "'Bond?' 'James?' ... or perhaps 'Sir?'"

He enjoyed the pitch of the man’s hips, clearly struggling between bucking him off and rutting harder against him.

_Lovely._

Just a little more persuasion, and—

**⊕ Q ⊕**

Oh, _god._

All Q could do was whimper as he was manipulated and writhed against in the most undeniably delicious manner. How intel had missed—how he had missed—that Stark had taken Loki as a lover. It was terribly embarrassing. Loki, who claimed to be the ancient God of Mischief—the God of Lies, for heaven’s sake—who almost had taken over Manhattan the year before, leaving the shadow of a mad grin and unprecedented devastation behind.

Who apparently had been fucking Stark long enough, and devotedly enough, to get quite envious when Bond had … done what Bond does.

What Bond always does. Flirt, assess … acquire, if appropriate. He couldn’t imagine it would have been necessary to acquire Tony Stark, but Bond also enjoyed _smart,_ and Stark—Stark would have made a good Q, in another time line. Hell, some had joked that Stark _had_ made a new Q, in the form of his AI, and Q sniffed in exaggerated disdain at being compared to a computer program, however impressive it may be.

The program was rather impressive, though. If Q got another moment’s free time, he would love to talk to Stark—

Oh. _That_ was nice. Loki had regained Q’s attention, and he arched up into the intimate touch—fingers sliding around a hip, squeezing his arse. Q still wasn’t letting that insistent tongue into his own mouth, but Loki was wielding it in other—convincing—ways, the words snaking into his mind, making him want to open and sigh and say _oh-dear-god-yes._

Yesss.

_**No.** _

If he made it out of this alive, he doubted he would get access to Stark again anytime soon. He tried to shake Loki’s hold on his mind, only succeeded in loosening it, and shifted in the grip of the skilled hands. He didn’t sense that the being had harmful intentions, really—even if this don’t-take-no-for-an-answer was a little too dramatic for his tastes. Yes, he'd turned up at Q's workstation and kidnapped him, but if Loki had actually wanted to hurt him, he’d already be dead, instead of—

 _Oh._ That was—why did he have to be so lovely to look at? It was … diverting, he thought, as he pressed harder against Loki’s chest, grasped the god’s upper arms and tried to turn his head away from the insistent mouth. Tried very hard not to meet the being’s green eyes, or to thrust his fingers into the long black hair that teased Q’s face. Definitely tried very, very hard not to respond to the increasing pressure of the hips insinuating themselves slowly between his barely-resisting thighs.

He and Bond didn’t have an exclusive arrangement, by any means, but—and he gasped at the nice rub of Loki’s hard cock against his own crotch, the erect length designed to slide perfectly between— 

Fuck, ye—no. _No, no, **no**._ Thank God he still had his clothes on, for now. Q tried to clear his mind. They had no exclusive arrangement, and Bond would do what he wanted with whomever he wanted, as he always did, BUT— 

He couldn’t imagine Bond would risk seducing Tony Stark if he had any idea what he’d be competing against. What would be coming after him for daring to impinge on another’s territory. This was no drug-empire kingpin or low-level corrupt foreign royal.

This was just a bit more than MI6 prepared any of them for.

More sweet words slipping into his ear, lips barely grazing the lobe. “Just one word, little one. Just one easy word, and I can teach you how gloriously a god can fuck … “

 _Mmph._ Q pressed his lips tighter together and tried very hard not to say ye—. God, he dare not even think the word at this point. But he was helped in his case, only slightly, when a voice from across the room interrupted: “Christ, babe, didn’t anyone ever teach you that no means no?”

**⊕ Stark ⊕**

Tony just rolled his eyes as he released his grip on the other man, made sure Bond let go of the suit’s handholds and stepped away securely before Tony approached the sofa. It had taken them a little longer to get here than he’d hoped—they hadn’t known exactly where Loki would take Q, though of course it had turned out to be Bond’s own temporary flat, Loki pissing in Bond’s territory—but it looked like they had arrived just in time.

He flipped up the faceplate. “Christ, Loki—you are shameless—and, to borrow from my new friend here, let’s appreciate the irony of that observation.” 

As he pulled off the helmet, he watched his lover unfold from where he had Bond’s … whatever-he-was pressed into the cushions. “Quartermaster,” suuurrre. Couldn’t miss Loki’s obvious arousal, or, for that matter, the kid’s, who’d been hit with the patented Loki Laufeyson Erotic Whammy, based on the dazed expression and high flush. Christ. He’d talked to Q on the phone, but hadn’t seen any photographs—this was the MI6 quartermaster? Really?

As Loki crossed his arms over his chest, Tony couldn’t help but shoot a disbelieving look at Bond—okay, so, he wasn't exactly one to talk, but how old was his lover? And what the fuck was—

“Are you two done now?” was all Loki said, but it was enough.

God, the fucking nerve. Five more minutes and he would have been inside the kid. “I don’t know—are you?” he sniped.

Loki glanced down at Q, who was pulling himself up off the sofa, and then aimed a sharp look at Bond. His expression softened into one of dark satisfaction—the bastard had succeeded like a blast of cold hosewater on two dogs on the lawn. Fucking Loki—irrational jealousy or no, Tony had to admit he liked the evil bastard and his nasty tricks.

Just as Loki moved his hands to send them back to New York—to their shared apartment in the Tower—Tony shot at Bond, “I’ll send you that armor tomorrow, okay?” Bond, eyes fixed only on the sheepish young man rising to his full height next to the sofa, nodded dismissively. As he pulled himself together, Q’s own expression became a touch defiant, even amused. He knew that expression--he'd seen it in his own mirror: Q was smug.

And if Bond’s reaction was anything like Tony’s, those two were in for their own incredible night.

Back at the Tower, Loki stopped Tony’s indignant protests of innocence by holding—and squeezing—his wrist, spitting, “Hold your tongue. Just know that, if you go near that empty-brained human arsenal again, I will destroy him. And possibly you as well.”

If Tony chose to remain silent, just this one time, it was because he’d had enough of this particular drama for the day. There would be time to renegotiate the parameters of their relationship--to draw some lines around Loki's crazy possessiveness--when things cooled down. Besides, he thought, as he moved to kiss the taste of another from Loki's mouth, he had better things to do with the nervous energy he'd stored up since the morning. 

After all, he could always entertain fleeting thoughts of barrel shoulders, blue eyes, and a desert-dry wit even while he was being fucked by his jealous lover. 

After all, Loki didn’t need to know.

And, anyway, Loki is the one who always makes him come. And the one Tony always comes back to, even if he flirts a little.

And as for Loki …

If he happened to imagine, once or twice, the glossy curls and sapling hips he’d held so briefly, the lips and legs that almost opened for him, the limber body that fit to his perfectly … 

Well …

It was only Stark’s imperfect form and gorgeous mind that Loki truly wanted to possess.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, y'all! You can find me publicly hand-wringing over my writing, or fangirling over other people's, on Tumblr: <http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com/>


End file.
